


end of the day

by meteor-sword (vaenire)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Hiking, M/M, Trans Male Character, trans piandao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:21:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaenire/pseuds/meteor-sword
Summary: Piandao invites Jeong Jeong along, and Jeong Jeong can't find it in him to tell him no.//“It is easier to see the big picture at the end of the day,” Jeong Jeong said.Piandao hummed in agreement.
Relationships: Jeong Jeong/Piandao (Avatar)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Avatar Rarepair Exchange 2021





	end of the day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iamnotalizard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnotalizard/gifts).



Jeong Jeong had rolled his eyes when Piandao suggested he exchange his thicker coastal clothes for light yet modest clothes for their excursion, but now that he’d wrapped his own jacket around his waist and taken the extra smock Piandao had packed, he can appreciate the man’s local knowledge. 

Scrambling over the loose soil and jutting rocks in the path as he kept pace with Piandao, Jeong Jeong still couldn’t quite wrap his head around what they were doing here-- what  _ he _ was doing here-- or why. After Ba Sing Se was recaptured and the Fire Lord was overthrown, Piandao had graciously offered an extra bedroom in his manor to Jeong Jeong, at least until the Fire Nation was demilitarized and the new Lord instated, and presumably issued pardons to felons such as Jeong Jeong. Two months, tops, he had expected to stay. 

Two notable things went awry from that plan. 

First, six months had elapsed with no word of pardon. It was a gamble Jeong Jeong wasn’t willing to take to directly request one while the young Fire Lord’s reign was still unstable. 

Second, Jeong Jeong’s reluctance to pass on Piandao’s near daily offers of evening tea, which led to invitations to share breakfast, and then to teach him  _ guohua _ painting-- which came more naturally than Jeong Jeong expected, after decades of disuse of the skill his mother had taught him as a young boy. 

The first weeks of his stay felt like a game of pai sho, each watching the other closely for signs of something Jeong Jeong couldn’t name-- untrustworthiness, perhaps, or a simple flaw that could be exploited to keep some distance between them. 

Jeong Jeong didn’t know if Piandao ever found what he was looking for, but Jeong Jeong didn’t. Piandao was as intelligent and attractive as Jeong Jeong had feared.

He found himself less and less able to say no to Piandao, and less and less able to end conversations with him at reasonable times of the evening. 

Jeong Jeong was sharing a pot of tea with the man when Fat delivered a scroll to their table, and Piandao stood as he read it, pacing before the large windows in the drawing room. He stared out of the window for what felt like an eternity before clearing his throat and rolling the scroll up and returning to his seat and cup of tea silently. 

He didn't mention anything of it for a week, and then came quite suddenly to Jeong Jeong’s quarters one night to ask if he wouldn’t mind accompanying him on a trip the following week. 

So he found himself in a tiny province in the central mountain region of the mainland, in the hot and arid basin robbed of any rain by the tall mountains on all sides. Jeong Jeong was not a finicky traveler, but the throat drying, skin cracking conditions were a bit much even for him. Still, he didn’t want Piandao to know that. 

During the days that Piandao filled with painting and presumably meeting with locals or seeing the sights, his connection to whom he never shared, Jeong Jeong found himself reading books left by previous inhabitants of his room and meditating, and occasionally visiting the open air market sheltered by billowing off-white tarps. In all of Jeong Jeong’s travels he had never seen such a strange assortment of roots and fruits and flour from crops he’d never heard of. He bought a clay jug from a woman sitting on the edge of the street weaving a basket and a set of candles from a booth buzzing with scorpion bees-- after being reassured they only sting in retaliation. 

They candles burned well for meditation where he sat them on metal plates in his room back at the inn. It was early in the afternoon for him to be retiring, but there wasn’t much else for him to do.

A knock came on his door then, but he ignored it until another round of knocks came and he got to his feet in a huff.

Piandao stood there, a pack on his shoulders and his usual demure black robes replaced with the light colored smock and trousers of a local. It was odd and, in the afternoon sun filtering in from the courtyard, intimately vulnerable-- not that even his thick robes provided much more protection. Jeong Jeong’s mouth, already opened to yell at whoever was disturbing him, hung slightly open instead. 

“I was going for a walk in the mountains to paint,” Piandao said, voice cool and even as always, “And I wondered if you would like to join me.” He saw the hesitation in Jeong Jeong’s face, obviously, and assured him, “It’s cooler this late in the evening, and I have enough water for us both.” Jeong Jeong sighed.

So they walked to the edge of the little town, and Piandao guided them on a trail that Jeong Jeong couldn’t even see with how spare and plain the flora was. The beige rocks and dirt slid under their feet, and Jeong Jeong scoffed when Piandao held out a hand for him at the steeper, rockier parts. 

They went silently for the most part, and Jeong Jeong kept an anxious eye on the setting sun. It wasn’t dipping behind the mountains just yet, but the mountains surely robbed the town of a good half hour of sunlight. Piandao was a fit man, given the athleticism of swordplay, but Jeong Jeong still wasn’t sure if this outing was best described as a “walk”. Jeong Jeong had too much pride to say as much, though. 

It was a relief, then, when Piandao stopped suddenly and squatted to look at a bush. Jeong Jeong covered his harder breathing with a scoff and a silent inquiry as to  _ what _ exactly he was looking at. The bush looked like all the other spiny pale green plants they had been passing. 

“When I was a child,” Piandao said at some point, “I read that the ancient people of this province used a certain flower to mark trails. They were master botanists, and could breed many colors that weren’t naturally occuring, and different colors denote different types of trails.” He pointed at the bush he was observing, and now Jeong Jeong could see the fine little flower buds, crimson red in the low light as the sun continued sinking. “Red was military. Blue brought you to a town,” he continued, pointing out another bush some ten paces away. He looked up at Jeong Jeong with a twinkle of pride in his ID, and Jeong Jeong felt there was something between the lines that he could not interpret here. He cocked his head in question, but Piandao stood with a shrug. 

There was something else Piandao wanted to say but wouldn’t without prodding, and Jeong Jeong was not one to prod. 

It felt like that a lot, lately. 

Jeong Jeong couldn’t put a finger on when the feeling started, like there were words like sweat on his brow that evaporated from their mouths and hung in the air between them, over the tea table and in the courtyard and in the halls of the manor when they crossed paths. 

They had gained enough elevation for spatters of green moss to pop up in the cracks of the rocks in the path now. 

The landscape was sloping more and more starkly, a wall to one side of the path and a drop off to the other. There were still flat strides between more strenuous inclines, but the sections of incline were becoming more rocky, and Jeong Jeong even found himself accepting the hand Piandao held out for him occasionally. 

There were switchbacks now, zig zagging up the side of the mountain, and Jeong Jeong wanted to stop. Why did he ever agree to come? He should’ve known Piandao would drag him out like this, knowing how the man was. Jeong Jeong was disciplined and ascetic, but hiking in this forsaken landscape under the bleaching sun was not his idea of a walk. 

They were approaching the peak of this rolling hill, Jeong Jeong was pretty sure, and it was only getting steeper. The trail seemed to come to an end, as they turned a corner to find themselves between a rock wall and a sharp drop off back into the canyon down below. 

Jeong Jeong began taking in the scenery, the beige rock faces of the valley turning red in the low sunlight. It was kind of beautiful. 

He heard Piandao put his bag down-- except not really. Jeong Jeong turned to peer at him as he stepped one foot onto the ragged rock wall and threw first his bag, then the two canteens up on top of the wall. 

“What…” he started to ask, before Piandao pointed his thumb at the flowering bush growing near the top of the wall, several feet above the man’s head. Jeong Jeong groaned. “Are you serious?” Piandao just quirked a brow and Jeong Jeong sighed under his breath. 

“Look,” Piandao said, taking Jeong Jeong’s bag and throwing it over as well. “Here’s where you want to step. I’ll help you.” 

Jeong Jeong rolled his eyes and felt for a good handhold as he slotted the toe of his too-thin-for-this shoes into the first foothold. At the first touch of Piandao trying to support him, keeping him from leaning too far back, Jeong Jeong tensed and hurried up the wall, throwing himself as gently as he could over the top. He kicked a canteen by accident, and grabbed it quickly before it could roll over the edge. In that time, Piandao already scaled the rocks and rolled onto the dirt beside Jeong Jeong. 

Neither of them moved to stand, breathing deeply in the warm mountain air. Jeong Jeong still held the cool canteen between his hands, and Piandao shamelessly laid on his back, arms spread and hands resting on his chest. Jeong Jeong could see the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and could feel his own damp skin drying. In the low light, he could even still make out the slight redness to his cheeks just as he felt the prickling heat on his own skin. 

“You’re burnt,” Piandao said, and Jeong Jeong’s spine snapped straight. He hadn’t seen him looking back. “I should have given you something to cover your face with, I’m sorry,” he said, pulling his pack over to himself and rummaging through it as Jeong Jeong pressed his fingertips to his cheeks, feeling the slight chap and rolling heat there with resignation. “Put this on.” 

It was a bandana, smooth to the touch as Jeong Jeong took it from Piandao’s outstretched hand. It was a mustard yellow silk, and as he tied it around his neck in a large triangle before pulling it over his nose and cheeks. It smelled like expensive perfume and dust and sweat. He did not let himself close his eyes as he took in the scent. 

Piandao was sitting up, and Jeong Jeong groaned. 

“It’s not much further at all,” Piandao said with a small smile, rolling to his feet and holding out a hand to Jeong Jeong. His voice was a touch raspier than usual, throat dried by exertion and the aridity. 

It wasn’t much further at all, it turned out, to the stone foundation sitting right at the tallest point of the hill. It wasn’t much more than thirty paces from the rock wall, and Piandao once again slung the bags and canteens down, leaning against the bottom of the old foundation before rummaging through them for a slim box which he placed on top of the wall. 

Jeong Jeong took in the site: though it was likely a square lookout hut at one time, it was now only an L-shaped wall about three feet tall and made of ancient looking grout and big stones.

Piandao planted his hands on the top of the foundation and hopped up, leaving Jeong Jeong to scowl up at him over the scarf. He scowled at the hand held out to him, too, opting to take a step back to give himself some momentum before grasping a divot he can see in the top stone, pulling himself swiftly to a sitting position just this side of too close to Piandao. He shifted away, finding a more comfortable spot on the stones. 

The view was breathtaking. The entire ridge before them, acrossing the sparkling valley, glowed red, a deep pink bleeding into the sky just above the horizon. One single cloud floated defiantly, lit up with gold and pink highlights. 

“We’re just in time,” Piandao murmured. “These colors only last a few minutes.” He took the box from where he’d placed it on the foundation. He popped the lid off and revealed the  _ guohua _ painting sets inside. He handed one set to Jeong Jeong, securing the papers into place on the hard surfaces of the small box. 

Jeong Jeong sat back as Piandao began to put the rough shape of the mountains on the paper, watching the way the pinks and golds and oranges and purples bled as sunlight began to filter over and through the jagged shape of the mountains. It was more pressure than he was expecting, to try to capture the broad expanse of the mountain basin and the range across from them, as well as the breadth of the sky above. 

He had not expected the view to be quite like this-- with shadows accentuating the flora he had just been denouncing in his head as plain, and the rocky mountains lit up in reds and purples and thrown into shadowed contract with themselves, he could see the appeal of the harsh landscape. 

“It is easier to see the big picture at the end of the day,” Jeong Jeong said as he wet the ink stick, realizing there was no capturing the colors with the black paint Piandao had brought. How to translate something as large as the sunset without the visual language of color? 

Piandao hummed in agreement. 

They worked in silence for several minutes before the light was in serious danger of fading altogether. Jeong Jeong ended up with a canvas filled with clumsy slashes of black as he tried to add the details of shadows on the cliff faces and the heat blur of the sun rays with mixed success. 

Piandao folded up his painting before Jeong Jeong could see it, and he cringed to think of the way the still drying paint smeared inside. He had seen Piandao’s paintings before-- even the ones he lamented were better than what Jeong Jeong could ever hope to create. Piandao packed the supplies again, complimenting Jeong Jeong’s horrible rendition of the landscape before them. He carefully placed it inside the supply box before hopping down to replace the box in his pack. 

Jeong Jeong could sense a hesitation in him, finally a flaw in the steel of his disposition, as he looked out across the basin once more. A soft breeze came in then and took a few strands from his hairline from his neat top knot. 

“I used to come here as a child,” he said. “I found it after I read about the flowers. I wasn’t supposed to go off by myself, but--” he cut himself off. His silhouette glowed in the last light of the day. “It was easy to be up here by myself.” 

Jeong Jeong had not heard him talk about his early years before, and even though Piandao was speaking directly to Jeong Jeong it still felt like he was intruding on the memories. He knew vague generalities about his origin-- raised in an orphanage, enlisting in the army as soon as he could to get away and reap the benefits of military service before discharging and apprenticing under a sword master he had met before, who had insisted he only trained  _ boys _ the last time Piandao attempted to apprentice. 

“I was seventeen the last time I came here. Never thought I would see this view again, to be honest.” 

Jeong Jeong should respond somehow, but he didn’t have the words yet. Piandao invited him here, to this abandoned outpost that had, in some sense, been his shelter as a boy. 

“You destroyed your painting of it,” Jeong Jeong said. He should insist they start the trek back to the town as the sun disappeared, but he was unwilling to be the one to end whatever moment they were having, though. 

Piandao sighed. “I don’t need it.” 

The moon was rising behind them now, and the landscape that had just been so defined by the intense colors was outlined in grayscale now, punctured by silver stars and golden lights in the distance. 

Jeong Jeong pushed off from the wall and stood beside Piandao, peering up at him. “So who told you about this place?” 

“No one,” Piandao said, eyes still focused distantly. “I found it myself. I don’t think anyone knows this is still up here,” he said, then looked at Jeong Jeong out of the corner of his eye. “Except you, now, I suppose.” 

There was a response to that statement, Jeong Jeong was sure. It would just be impossible to voice, is all, with the way it made Jeong Jeong’s blood run cold, locking his jaw tight. He swallowed and hummed. 

He wanted to ask  _ why _ , why did Piandao share this with him? Why did he ask him along on this trip at all? Why did he tolerate Jeong Jeong’s presence disturbing his hermit lifestyle for so long? 

Instead he managed, “Thank you.” 

Piandao nodded shortly before bending to sling his pack over his shoulder. Jeong Jeong did the same. 

The walk back to town was much shorter than he remembered-- the cool night air and the fact that gravity was assisting them on their journey rather than hindering them surely shortened it significantly. 

The town seemed bigger at night, empty space filled by the dark and punctuated by lanterns and moonlight. He saw it differently as they made their way to the inn, now that he knew this was Piandao’s home at one point. 

With a strange lurch in his chest, Jeong Jeong realized he had not learned the layout of the town at all, beyond perhaps a two block radius from the inn. Jeong Jeong trusted that Piandao knew where he was going, but he was fairly certain even in the dark that he didn’t recognize a single building on the block they were walking down now. 

It seemed residential, he noticed-- some of the facades appeared to be single family homes, several were apartments with balconies on the second story and flowerpots on the window sills of the first story. A few held storefronts on the street level, but these were the minority. 

Suddenly Piandao came to a stop. 

Jeong Jeong started to ask why-- his feet ached and his pack was weighing heavy on his shoulders, and the temperature had dropped significantly since sunset, and he was ready to get to the inn, no more messing around. 

But Piandao was looking across the street quite intently, and Jeong Jeong followed his line of sight. 

There was a respectable house across the street from where they stood, the torches on either side of the entryway illuminating the intricate woodwork on the side and curved corners of the roof. The door was left open, allowing a slash of light to cut the dark dirt street between the men and the house. 

Jeong Jeong wanted to ask what the hold up was, but he held his tongue when he saw the consideration with which Piandao was watching the house. Jeong Jeong took a second look, as well. 

There were flags hung in the windows, he noticed now, but he couldn’t make out the insignia in the dark. 

“There are some traditions from before the national unification that this province holds onto,” Piandao observed, voice sounding much more detached than the look on his face suggested. “Four day mourning rituals, for example, starting directly after cremation. Family members who are able choose to fast, eating at night when the spirit of their deceased loved one is closest and can eat with them. On the fourth day the family makes as much food as they can and leave their door open to the community to eat with them and celebrate the dead’s life.” 

It sounded more like a textbook explanation than one from personal experience. Perhaps the banners indicated that this was the case to Piandao, perhaps he stopped to consider whether they should take up the unspoken offer, or if it would be unseemly in their sweaty clothes and laden with their supplies. 

The moment stretched into several minutes, and Jeong Jeong was going to ask what he was thinking sooner or later, shifting the pack on his shoulders, when Piandao seemed to shake his head, realizing just how long he had checked out for. 

“We should go,” he said, pulling the pack straps up his shoulder. As if on cue, the door to the house was pulled open and two figures appeared in the threshold. The first one, an elderly woman in a red smock, turned back to the second, who clasped her hands in his and murmured something vaguely resembling a thanks. The old woman turned and disappeared into the dark street. 

The man on the threshold watched her go, heaving a deep sigh. Jeong Jeong could feel Piandao tense as the man surveyed the street quickly, presumably meaning to turn back inside before his eyes fell on the two of them across the street, looking at him. 

He was a tall man with a wide, square face and thick dark gray hair in a top knot. In the dark, Jeong Jeong could see him cock his head to the side and beckon to them. 

Jeong Jeong was already halfway shaking his head, his hand coming up to wave him off, but Piandao obliged the beckoning and was crossing the street before Jeong Jeong registered it. 

Piandao was full of surprises today, Jeong Jeong thought as the two men conversed briefly, the stranger pushing the door open wider and insisting they come inside. There must be a custom here, Jeong Jeong surmised, that made it rude to decline a direct invitation like this. However, truth be told, Jeong Jeong had begun feeling a tinge of hunger on their way back from the mountain, and now the smell of roast meat wafted out of the door, and he did not feel so self-conscious following behind Piandao inside. 

The man’s home was full of people seated around several low tables, many of which were obviously brought in for the occasion. Several people turned toward the newcomers, not interrupting conversations but tracking the men as they crossed the room. Jeong Jeong felt eyes on his cropped hair and straightened his back. Better they study his hair than his face, he supposed. 

“Please, sit here,” the man said, waving to two empty seats at one of the smaller tables before disappearing to another room for a moment before returning with plates. He spoke to a passing woman, who glanced at Piandao and Jeong Jeong before smiling at the man and turning around to other tables and collecting up plates of dumplings to bring over to the little table. The man brought over another chair to sit with them as they exchanged glances before Jeong Jeong reached out for a steamed bun, observing the man slyly out of the corner of his eye. 

He was in his late forties, probably, and squinted in a way that suggested he used reading glasses, giving himself deep wrinkles beside his eyes, which were dark brown or gray. 

“Shizen,” he said, holding out a hand to Piandao. Piandao shook it silently, and Jeong Jeong followed his lead. “You must be travellers,” the man continued with some hesitation at their silence, “because I know everyone in this town,” he finished with a laugh. 

“You’re right,” Piandao replied. “We are not intruding, hopefully?” 

“No, no, travellers are good luck with these things,” he said. Then he realized there was a chance that his guests had no idea what ‘these things’ were. “The whole neighborhood has come by to celebrate my mother,” he explained. “She passed away earlier this week.” 

“My condolences,” Piandao said. Jeong Jeong nodded, not expecting the pang in his rib cage as he thought of his own mother. Surely the woman had died at some point during Jeong Jeong’s decade-long isolation. 

“So what brings you to our little town?” Shizen said. He was a friendly man, clearly, and Jeong Jeong was beginning to regret coming along with Piandao this evening all over again. 

“We are just passing through,” Piandao lied. 

Shizen nodded. “We don’t get many tourists.” 

“Well,” Piandao said, a bit too quickly to be casual. “We’re not tourists. I grew up here, just haven’t been back in almost forty years,” he said with a forced laugh and shrug. “I enlisted as soon as I could, to get out of old Lee’s.” 

Jeong Jeong didn’t know what ‘Lee’s’ referred to, but it was clear that Shizen did. He studied Piandao with raised brows. 

“Things must have changed a lot since then.” 

Piandao gave a small smile. “I’ve been finding that to be true, yes.” 

“Let me get some tea going for you two,” Shizen said suddenly, pushing himself to his feet and disappearing. 

Jeong Jeong wanted to take the moment alone to ask what exactly Piandao’s plan was here, but he could still feel eyes on the back of his neck. He tried to catch Piandao’s eye to ask silently, but Piandao’s attention was on the dumplings as he took one ginger, stiff-lipped bite that would so obviously give him away as a nobleman if anyone paid attention to him instead of Jeong Jeong’s lack of filial piety or top knot. 

He gave a growl-like sigh and took a bite of his own dumpling and was distracted from his confusion for a moment when it was  _ good _ . Not as spicy as the cuisine Jeong Jeong was accustomed to, it had a sweet dough and almost sour meat, a combination he didn’t expect. 

He was still marveling at this when Shizen returned with a pot of tea and three cups. What was this man’s deal? Was there no one else at his mother’s memorial he’d rather talk to than two strangers? 

Shizen poured the tea, and Jeong Jeong took the cup gratefully. It was fragrant, and he took a deep smell of it. Floral oolong, and very expensive if the taste matched at all. 

Shizen shifted uncomfortably, studying Piandao as he leaned a forearm on the table. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, shifting in his seat as Piandao brought the teacup to his mouth. “I’m good friends with the innkeeper, and I have to ask. Are you really Master Piandao? From Shu Jing?” 

Piandao raised a brow over his cup and finished taking his sip, replacing it on the table. “I am.” 

Shizen’s face lit up. “It’s an honor,” he said, grasping Piandao’s hand again as if they were reintroduced. Piandao just hummed. “I didn’t know you were from here,” he continued. “I have heard, however, that you are quite the artist. Is that true?” 

Piandao hummed again. 

“In that case, do not let me forget to show you a painting I recently acquired.” He clapped. “I’ll let you eat now.” With that, Shizen left them. Jeong Jeong watched him go, with the elegance of a man who sat at a desk all day and drank tea and studied the paintings of other men. 

Then he looked at Piandao, who was studying his cup. The tea set was quite nice, nicer than Jeong Jeong would expect of the average household in a backwater town like this, let alone used to serve two strangers. 

Piandao was deep in thought, and with no intention of sharing those thoughts it seemed. 

They ate in silence, and it wasn’t tangibly much different than their customary breakfasts-- aside from the rest of people also eating food and talking, filling the rest of the room with a buzz unlike any other memorial Jeong Jeong had attended. 

When their plates were empty, Jeong Jeong leaned forward so Piandao could not pretend to not notice his inquiring eyes. 

“What are we doing here?” Jeong Jeong asked under his breath. If they had been beckoned in at random as Jeong Jeong first assumed, after stopping randomly to observe a house in mourning, they surely would have made their exit by now. 

“I don’t know,” Piandao answered shortly, but there was something in his voice that suggested he  _ did _ know. Of course he knew. 

They were similar, Piandao and Jeong Jeong: two men adrift with sharp and appraising eyes, noticing the slightest signs and shifts in others. But where Jeong Jeong kept his cards for all to see, Piandao kept them close to his chest. Perhaps that is what intrigued Jeong Jeong about the man. It was also what drove him mad. 

Shizen appeared at the third seat at the table again, pouring himself more tea as if he’d never left. 

“There is some soup if you are still hungry,” the man said, and Jeong Jeong’s nicety at being the man’s guest was beginning to wear off. No longer hungry, he was just tired and tacky with dried sweat and dust. 

“We are fine,” Piandao said, glancing at Jeong Jeong for confirmation before giving Shizen a polite smile. 

“I can show you that painting then, if you would like,” Shizen said, already standing. Begrudgingly, Jeong Jeong followed Piandao to his feet, and then out of the room up a hallway. The house only appeared to become nicer the further from the entryway they went, the interior courtyard with its rock garden and pond visible through large windows on one side of the hallway. Shizen came to a stop in front of an archway leading to what appeared to be a home temple. 

With a polite bow to the images framed on the table, Shizen lit the tip of his index finger and held it to the wicks of the candles set on either end of the table, and then the torches on the wall. The light licked the walls, revealing several landscape paintings hung there. 

Jeong Jeong recognized the landscapes depicted-- all of them of the surrounding mountains, and perhaps one of the nearby coastline just on the other side of one of the ridges. 

“Lee closed his home down a few years ago,” Shizen said. “He gave this one to me just a few weeks ago.” 

Jeong Jeong glanced at the one he was gesturing at-- it was a view of the basin and the mountain range, scrawled on a cheap looking piece of parchment. It wasn’t as skillfully done as the others, but it was nice, Jeong Jeong supposed. 

Then he noticed, in quick succession, the way Piandao was looking at the painting with something akin to apprehension or alarm, and the way Shizen was studying Piandao’s reaction, and, upon a second glance, the strange familiarity with the specific landscape depicted. 

Because it dawned on him, that not one hour before the two of them had sat painting it. 

Jeong Jeong may have an idea of what was going on here, but he was reluctant to let the thought develop fully in his mind. 

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Shizen started, then cleared his throat. “Some years ago, after my father died, my mother told me something rather shocking. See, before I was born, they gave up a child to Lee’s home. They would be around your age, if you enlisted forty years ago, and I found that she enlisted too. Perhaps you would remember her?” 

Jeong Jeong sensed the tension in Piandao’s posture rising. 

Piandao seemed unable or unwilling to speak for a moment, before he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I barely remember anyone. It’s been so long…” he trailed off in explanation. 

Shizen nodded, and returned to looking at the painting. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, as did Piandao, and in the flickering candlelight Jeong Jeong had the jolting realization of just how similar they looked-- about the same height, if Piandao was just a hair shorter, with strikingly similar bone structure. 

“My mother asked me to find my sibling, before she died. For a nation so meticulous on keeping records, it was very difficult to track,” Shizen said, with a rehearsed chuckle. “I visited old Lee to see what he might remember, but he just had this painting. I’m lucky I’m a provincial accountant-- official status let’s me get my hands on some records I might not be able to, otherwise, and I thought I found a promising address and I sent a letter. It didn’t send fast enough, it seems.” Shizen shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “At some point during their military service, the name I had disappeared from the records, and you can imagine how that affects the ability to research any further.” He gave another weak laugh. “Not everyone’s parents had the foresight to give such prophetical names as yours,  _ Piandao _ . That is your preferred style of sword, is it not?” 

Piandao nodded, but Jeong Jeong could see the slight signs of him being dazed by the information presented. 

“Why would your mother only tell you so recently?” Piandao asked, his tone meticulously even. 

Shizen shook his head. “I never understood the woman,” he said, glancing at one of the paintings on the altar table. Illuminated by the candles, the image depicted a young woman with broad cheekbones and a sloping forehead. “We hadn’t been on good terms before my father’s passing-- she wanted me to divorce my wife when we decided not to have children. Maybe she hoped telling me would change our relationship somehow.” Shizen shook his head again, inhaling deeply. “Maybe she wanted to make peace with it.” 

“Perhaps your letter made it, but they didn’t want to come,” Piandao said. 

Shizen cocked his head at this, frowning. “Perhaps.” 

Piandao sniffed, and turned from the painting toward the hallway. 

The tension as Shizen led them back through the house was palpable, and when they stood on the threshold to say their goodbyes, Jeong Jeong was happy to shrink into the darkness of the street. 

Before they could make their escape, though, Piandao turned and inclined his head to Shizen respectfully. “Thank you for a wonderful meal,” he said. “I hope your mother can find peace.” 

Jeong Jeong hid his wince by turning away. 

“Thank you, Master Piandao. Please come by for tea again, before you return home.” 

Piandao nodded, and they parted ways. 

They walked in silence again, and arrived at the inn within a few minutes. 

They scaled the stairs to their third floor quarters in silence as well, pausing only in the stretch of hall between their doors. Jeong Jeong paused with his hand on the doorknob, noticing that Piandao was lingering. 

“I should wash up,” he said. “But…” 

He didn’t want to be alone. Jeong Jeong could read that on him, now, after months of being asked to join him for whatever activity he was filling his time with that day. It clicked one day, when Jeong Jeong had taken his time to accept an invitation, trying for once to preserve some dignity. The look on Piandao’s face had given him away, as it did now, his eyes secured to the ground. He looked at Jeong Jeong after a moment, and Jeong Jeong could feel the weight of them, keeping him right where he stood. 

“But…” Jeong Jeong repeated. 

Piandao crossed the hall in one stride, wrapping a hand around Jeong Jeong’s wrist. “Thank you,” he said. “For coming with me.” The words were bigger than just what he said, Jeong Jeong knew. 

Without thinking he let go of the doorknob, twisting his wrist in Piandao’s grip to slide his hand into it instead. 

It was a mistake, and it brought their skin so much closer, somehow, than a hand on a wrist. Calloused fingers slotted their hands together, a thumb smoothing over soft skin.

“Of course,” he said simply. 

Another hand slid beneath his jaw then, suddenly tilting it up, and he closed his eyes before Piandao leaned down to press a kiss to his mouth. The hand moved to the back of his neck, cradling his skull for all ten seconds of the Inelegant and rushed kiss before Piandao pulled back with a soft gasp. 

When Piandao began to retrieve his hand from his neck, Jeong Jeong quickly grabbed his forearm. 

“Thank you for bringing me along.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I think Piandao takes Shizen up on the offer of tea, and they might end up actually talking about it all
> 
> Also, if it wasn't clear, I think that in understanding the Fire Nation as trans-inclusive, healthcare might be provided for military members.... which I'm not gonna say is a Good Thing or Bad Thing but it sure is a thing huh. I wanted to write a fic with both pianjeong and bakoda (with trans Piandao and Hakoda) to maybe Look at cultural differences between them but unfortunately there was a deadline and such is life. Maybe that fic will still happen! 
> 
> This is my first time writing pianjeong so i hope it was good!


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